There's Always a Victim
by FoxyLady86
Summary: 8MM piece, something that could have taken place in the movie, TomMax, please rr


Title:  There's Always a Victim 

Author: little_miss_writer

Rating:  R to be safe Max/Tom

Disclaimer:  I own nothing, nothing whatsoever.  Although if a humble fanfic writer may be so bold, I thought Nic Cage put in a disappointing performance, thank god for Joaquin Phoenix talent's, I always knew that boy was going places!

Notes:  Warning.  Yes, this is slash.  No, it's not graphic.  But if you don't like it don't read it.  Please don't read it if all you're gonna do is complain.  Have an open mind.  Please r/r!  Only constructive comments please.  R/r or send comments to little_miss_writer@hotmail.com.  

There's Always a Victim   

"Do you get turned on by places like tonight?"

I turned back to look at him, sitting on his lumpy mattress, teasing notes from his guitar, light reflecting off the hoop in his eyebrow.  Did I get turned on by places like tonight?  Fuck no.  Half of it scared the shit out of me.  Maybe because I was a father, that when I saw those girls I thought of their fathers and mothers, imagining my reaction if anything like that ever happened to my little girl.   Rape films, kid porn, mutilation.  Destroying innocent young girls and their families. It was fucking sick.  I looked at him, and realised he was waiting for an answer.

"No I do not."

He glanced up at me, smirking in his smart assed kind of way, somehow finding my response amusing.

"But you don't exactly get turned off either.  Devil's changing you already," he turned back to his guitar, as though he expected me to leave.  After a moment he glanced up.  Surprise flittered across his features, and suddenly I couldn't help but stare at him.  His pale skin, the scar just above his mouth, his piercing, those ever changing blue-green eyes, the blue tinted hair. Eyes that had seen so much, yet underneath still held hope, hope for a better future, that one day he'd get out of this rat trap, move onto better things.  There was an innocence about him, underneath the punk clothes and the attitude, he was still a kid, not more than twenty five.  He'd seen more shit than most people would see in their life time.  How much more would he have to see?  Did it scare him?  Would he sleep after the tapes we had watched tonight?  Did the things he see haunt his dreams?  Haunt his dreams in the same way they haunted mine?

The gentle plucking of the guitar faded and he stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something.

"What you staring at Tom Wells?"  I could see the uncertainty in his eyes, and a trace of fear.  Why would he be afraid of me?  Well fuck.  If I'd been living here and seen the shit he had, seen the blood and the pain and the violence, I'd be frightened if a guy stood staring at me too. Probably meant I was going to get shot or raped.  

I walked over and sat on the bed next to him. He put the guitar down, and stared at me, the flicker of fear seeming to turn into one of hope.  And a jolt ran through me.  I didn't get it.  I wasn't gay, I was straight, with a fucking wife and daughter no less.  So why was I drawn to this kid, this smart ass, fast talking kid?

He stared for a long moment, then leaned towards me and brushed his lips against mine. And even though I expected it, even though I wanted it and needed it, I froze. He knew.  He knew I'd never been with a guy before, never fucked one, never kissed one. And when he pulled back he looked like he expected to be hit, looked like he thought he had made a mistake, that I was going to kick the crap out of him.  I lifted my hand, and he flinched, waiting for the blow, not even trying to defend himself.  Instead, I ran my hand down his cheek gently, and his eyes snapped open, startled.  And again his eyes drilled into mine, holding me captive, before leaning in towards me and brushing his lips against mine.  This time I responded and we kissed gently, softly.  It wasn't like I expected, kissing a guy. His lips were soft and reassuring, but I knew he was holding back, not wanting to get in too deep, in case I changed my mind.

In case I changed my mind.  What was I doing? I was straight.  But what about him? He'd told me he was straight the moment I'd asked him for help.  I pulled back from him, leaving my hand resting on his shoulder.  "I thought you were straight?"

A look I couldn't interpret flashed across his face.  Then he gave a short laugh.  "Yeah?  I thought you were married?" 

I didn't answer, couldn't answer.  Instead I kissed him and he kissed me back, his tongue parting my lips, exploring my mouth, I moaned and gripped his shoulders tightly.  But something in me needed to know. 

"So you're gay?"

He kissed down my neck, hands slipping under my jacket and sliding it off my shoulders, "What does it matter?"

"It-it doesn't, I just wondered."

He left my neck and looked up at me.  "I'm bi."

I just nodded, then gasped as he slip his hands under my shirt and tweaked my nipples.  "What about you?"

"I-uh, well I'm straight."

He laughed at me, repeating the action with his hands.  "Most straight guys would either have ran outta this room by now, or knocked my fucking teeth out."

"Has that happened before?" I ran a thumb over the scar above his lip.

"Yeah, everybody makes mistakes I guess." He ducked his head, breaking eye contact, then he looked at me, the glimmer of hope returning to his eyes.  "Is this a mistake?"  And I knew what he wanted, he wanted me to say no, to say I wanted this, needed this like he did.

"Well, I-uh," Shit, what was this?  I loved my wife.  But this kid, I was attracted to him, I wanted him, I needed him.  I needed to be with someone who had been where I'd been, seen what I'd seen, who's dreams were haunted, the same way as mine.

"No."

And then we were kissing, and I threw myself into the kiss completely.  He seemed a little shocked by my enthusiasm, but matched my pace, hands tugging at my shirt.  We parted breathlessly, as he pulled my t-shirt over my head, then pushed me onto my back, latching his mouth onto one of my nipples.  I gasped, arching my back, desperate for more contact.   His mouth trailed a line from my chest, down my stomach, stopping at the waist of my jeans.  Wordlessly he started to unbutton them, and then my brain kicked in.  I didn't have a clue what to do, and from what I'd heard, gay sex was meant to hurt like hell.  I didn't know if I could do it, or what he wanted from me.  

My wife.  I couldn't do this to her.  Cheat on her, with a guy no less.  I remembered the faces, clear as day, of people I'd had to inform about their partners 'recreational' activities, what they really got up to when they were out of town on 'business'.  I could remember the hurt, the pain, the anger, written all over their faces, some had taken it in their stride, others had taken their own lives only a few short hours later.  Was I to become on of those bastards I despised so much? I couldn't.  No matter how much I wanted this, or thought I did. I opened my eyes to tell him to stop, and saw that he had already, and had moved to the end of the bed, where he stared at the wall.

"Max?"

How had he known?  Then I realised.  My body had betrayed me.  Every muscle in my body was tense and quivering.  

"Max I'm sorry."

He bit back a sob, avoiding my eyes, "It's ok, I get it, I do.  You've got a wife and a kid. It's cool."  His voice wavered, threatening to crack, and my heart went out to him, I wanted to hold him, to protect him.  But I loved my wife, I owed it to her.

Wordlessly I slipped on my shirt, slung my jacket over my shoulders and headed for the door "I'm sorry."

I was nearly out the room when I heard his voice, quiet, unsure, not like I'd ever heard him before, "Stay?"  His eyes finally met mine and I could see the loneliness, the fear.  He didn't want to be alone, not after what he'd seen tonight, and I didn't blame him, I felt the same. 

How could he sleep after all he'd seen?  Did the nightmares hound him in his dreams?  The demons pursuing him in his sleep as they did in the day?

"You have trouble sleeping?"

H lowered his eyes again, voice quiet, "You could say that."

 I stared at him for a few moments.  Was this such a good idea?  Spending the night with him?  But I knew I couldn't leave him alone like this, not after the day we'd had, he need somebody to be with him, and I felt the same, "Okay.  You just wanna sleep now?  It's been a long day."

He laughed wryly, "Yeah…that it has."

Silently we stripped to our boxers.  He turned away from me as he stripped, but I couldn't help looking, the skin of his body even paler than his face, although his arms were covered in tattoos, there was nothing on the rest of him, no piercings either. He turned back to me, blushing when he caught my eyes.  I smiled, dumping my clothes next to the bed, and slipped into it.  He followed me, lying with his back facing me.  I could almost his pulse, hammering through his veins.  He was worried.  Worried that I didn't want to be here, afraid that I was going to turn on him for just being himself.  Gently but firmly I rolled him over, so that one arm was lay across my stomach, his body nestled next to mine, head resting on my chest.  He let out a shaky sigh, then burrowed his head into my chest.  I wrapped an arm around him, holding him close, and planted a light kiss on his head. 

"Good night Max."

Fin

Hey

What did you think?  Please r/r! Send any comments (as long as they're constructive) to little_miss_writer@hotmail.com  thanx!


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